


Mementos

by GraphiteFox



Series: Red Rover [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraphiteFox/pseuds/GraphiteFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin cleans out Harry's flat after his death and becomes upset with the ridiculous things Harry owns.</p><p>Written for discopandorica's Tumblr prompt: "I need a fic of Merlin clearing out Harry’s house after his death and being completely annoyed by the sheer level of decorative crap Harry owns and complaining loudly to himself and then Harry walks in, not dead, and is like “put that back please, that is my favorite of the sixteen china cat figurines i own thank you very much.”  And then maybe Merlin throwing said china cat figurine at him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mementos

**Author's Note:**

> I banged this out super quick. I considered making it more angsty but decided that I wanted fluff, plain and simple.

Mementos

 

                Merlin unlocks Harry’s flat, then takes a breath before pushing open the door. A wave of stale air greets him. There’s so much to be done and there are so few Kingsman left that packing up Harry’s belongings seems almost indulgent. Still, he needs a break, so he’s gathered up some boxes and come here looking for some kind of closure. He hasn’t found it on his own, so maybe removing Harry altogether will make some kind of difference, he thinks.

                Everything is where Harry left it, more or less, though there’s a thin film of dust throughout. Merlin ignores the dining room, with its single place setting, and heads straight into the living room. This area is the least offensive to him and it’s where he’ll start until he can build up a tolerance for the rest. He’s already removed Harry’s laptop from his office, but the headlines are still pinned up. Eggsy wants those, so Merlin decides he’ll let the boy get them down himself. He has no desire to remove a hundred thumb tacks.

                Besides, there’s more than enough work already. While immaculate, Harry’s flat is like walking into an antique shop. Everything is old and fragile and seems like something that should exist in a gentleman’s home but, upon further inspection, is not particularly pleasing to behold. He can’t understand why Harry would collect any of it, nevertheless display it.

                He glances at the shadow boxes with their perfectly pinned insects and suppresses a shudder. He’ll deal with those later, maybe even have Eggsy handle them. Bugs make him squeamish. The few times he stayed here, he sat with his back towards the frames and Harry chided him.

                “You can blow a man’s head clean off, but you can’t look at a pinned butterfly?”

                “It’s not one butterfly, Harry, it’s _dozens_ , and it’s unnatural. You’re the strange one in this situation.”

                Harry had only smiled then, but all too often Merlin found himself faced with a spider on a wall, or a collection of beetles as Harry took full advantage of the transmission feed.

                Merlin pauses to massage his sternum. There’s been a knot in his chest this past month. He’d be vaguely concerned if it wasn’t for all of the stress he’s experienced. He thinks he’d feel better if they could find Harry’s body. It’s been so long now, he has no idea if they ever will.

                _That_ thought is overwhelming because they’ve never failed to recover a knight’s body. Even Lancelot was found and stitched back together as best as possible to provide some semblance of dignity. How are the Kingsman supposed to lay Harry to rest if there’s no Harry?

It’s _too much_.

Merlin focuses on the task at hand, folding a particularly wretched clock up in newspaper. He’s never seen it before. He wouldn’t even know it was Harry’s if he wasn’t in Harry’s flat right now, actually holding the damn thing.

                Then the anger comes. Why did Harry need so many teacups? He lived _alone_ for Christ’s sake. More than half show no indication of having ever been used. Three of the teapots are purely decorative, because Harry has a kettle, and Merlin can’t understand the point of having a teapot you aren’t going to _use_. And then there are the vases, twelve in total in various locations throughout the flat, none of which contain flowers, real or otherwise.

                “You were an old _lady_ , Harry,” Merlin mumbles as he studies a row of china cat figurines in various poses.

                He doesn’t care anymore, doesn’t want to spend weeks wrapping up all this _stuff_. It’s Harry’s stuff but it’s not Harry, it doesn’t remind Merlin of Harry, and it doesn’t matter anyway. There’s something to be said for taking a memento here and there, but even if every member of Kingsman, support staff included, came in and took something, there would still be stuff.

                Harry Hart, Galahad, Merlin’s best friend and lover, reduced to knick knacks.

                Merlin sets a box under the edge of the shelf and prepares to sweep the entire mess of figurines into it, fragility be damned.

                “I wish you wouldn’t,” a voice says, sounding mildly annoyed. “It took me a year to procure the entire set.”

                Merlin freezes, because every fiber of his body knows that voice, has spent decades memorizing it. Harry Hart is standing in the doorway, looking a bit worse for wear, but clearly _alive_. There’s a bandage on his left temple and he’s dressed in common department store clothing. He glances around the room, taking in the boxes that are half-full on the sofa, and says, “If I’d have known you’d be so petulant with my belongings, I would have made other arrangements.”

                Merlin’s hand reacts before his brain does, grabbing the first figurine and simply _lobbing it_. Harry appears to have expected this, because he manages to catch it, though not without a wince, and then he’s ducking as another comes flying straight at his head.

                “ _Really_?” he asks, taking cover behind the sofa. “ _Merlin--!”_

                The third figurine hits the wall and shatters, little porcelain shards littering the carpet. The fourth hits a particularly ugly framed drawing of a lady and knocks it clean off the wall. Merlin continues until his hand grabs at air and the carpet is a mess of white flecks. He’s breathing heavily and his eyes sting, but the hard knot in his chest has relaxed a bit.

                Behind the sofa, Harry sighs. “Are you quite finished?”

                “For now,” Merlin replies. “Though I can’t promise I won’t start on your bloody teacups next.”

                Harry pushes himself up and brushes off his shirt. Merlin pretends not to notice that Harry’s blocked the entrance to the kitchen.

                “You could have called,” Merlin tells him, aware that his voice is shaky. “You could have let us know, one of us would have come to get you.”

                Harry steps closer until he can take Merlin’s trembling hands in his own. “I’m sorry to have worried you.”

                “You aren’t,” Merlin replies. “You enjoyed that. You always love making an entrance.”

                Harry chuckles. “Maybe so,” he admits, “but hurting you is not something I enjoy.”

                Merlin is still angry, but he lets Harry kiss him anyway because he’s not a child and he’s missed Harry too much to pretend otherwise. He can’t hide his shock at how thin Harry’s gotten, but now doesn’t seem the moment to bring it up. He has questions— _so many questions_ —but knowing that there will be plenty of time to get answers makes them seem less important.

                Harry breaks away and turns back to look at the porcelain remains.

                “I’m not going to apologize,” Merlin tells him. “They were fucking ugly.”

                Harry shakes his head ruefully at the mess. “I suppose you’re right.” Looking back at Merlin, he quirks his lips for a moment before asking, “You haven’t also thrown a tantrum in the bedroom, have you? As fun as this has been, I’m afraid I am actually exhausted.”

                “Go, I’ll clean up.”

                Harry grasps his wrist and pulls him gently towards the bedroom. “You can clean up later. You don’t look much better than I do. We’re going to bed.”

                Merlin follows him, mouth agape. Even drunk, Harry is precise and orderly. Merlin can’t comprehend a version of Harry where leaving anything out of place is acceptable. “Any other changes I should know about? Are you left-handed now? Do you have a new affinity for rugby?”

                “Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry says, sounding vaguely annoyed and well, more _Harry_. “Lie down.”

                The sheets are cold but Harry is warm, so blessedly warm, and Merlin contents himself with listening to Harry breathe. He’s normally not one for cuddling but this is not a normal occasion. Witnessing one’s lover return from the dead is a good enough reason to indulge, he figures.

“I’m glad I got here when I did,” Harry murmurs, half-asleep. “I would have been put out if you’d destroyed my teacups.”

                “At least Eggsy will have something to throw at you,” Merlin replies. Harry groans as though he’s forgotten about Eggsy and Merlin wonders if the boy will try to hug or punch Harry first. He’s actually hoping for the latter. Harry deserves it.

                “Perhaps we should have our reunion somewhere, ah, unfurnished.”

                “Coward.”

                “If you ever return from the dead, I’ll attempt to bludgeon you with some of your own belongings.”

                “Good luck,” says Merlin, his head resting on Harry’s shoulder. His chest feels completely open now. “Unlike you, I don’t live in a home goods store.”

                Harry scoffs, but doesn’t respond. Merlin finds that he’s partly relieved Harry’s alive because nothing here would have been suitable to keep as a memory. For all the moments they’ve shared together, they have nothing tangible to represent it. Something has to be done about that, Merlin thinks. He’ll find something nice, something not so kitschy.

                Harry doesn’t get a say, given his taste.

 

+

 

                It’s not until later in the week that Merlin finds something sitting on his desk. It’s one of those damned cat figurines, the one that Harry managed to catch. Merlin contemplates dropping it in the trash, but it’s too late. The stupid thing has significance now and Harry knows it.

                “You bastard,” he grumbles, but he smiles anyway and sets it aside.

                Roxy asks him about it later, her expression polite but confused.

                “It’s a memento of sorts,” he responds. _Of the time I tried to brain my miraculously undead boyfriend in his own living room._

                Then Harry’s transmitting for some reason, even though he should be resting at home, so Merlin pulls up the feed and is greeted by a close up of several pinned jewel beetles and Harry saying innocently, “Look what I found today. I was thinking this one could go in the kitchen. Suggestions?”

                Merlin has several suggestions, most of them quite rude. He settles for “I hate you” and receives a chuckle in return. It’s nice to hear that sound again and Merlin thinks that no matter how fucked up the world is, he can handle it. If Harry’s alive, he can handle it all.

**Author's Note:**

> I figured that Merlin has only been to Harry’s place a few times because he insists they stay at his flat so he doesn’t have to deal with Mr. Pickles and all the other weird shit Harry insists on collecting. Harry agrees because keeping Merlin placated is simpler than dealing with a grumpy uncomfortable Scottish tech wizard.


End file.
